by Hazel Hunter
Kanyth couldn’t fathom the reason for it. As a warrior he’d been feared, as every Skaraven was, but beyond the battlefield he’d never been thus reviled. Indeed, he’d prided himself on being the most affable of men.
He understood that Perrin had every reason to feel beset by fright. Stolen from her time by the mad druids and their giants, the lady had been imprisoned, terrorized and beaten for weeks. For a mortal to survive so much cruelty seemed a gift from the Gods. After examining her Ruadri had confirmed she had also come close to dying from starvation. Later they discovered that in addition to denying all the women proper food, the bastarts had used an evil charm to compel Perrin to stop eating altogether so as to keep her younger, stronger sister in check.
Kanyth’s mood darkened when he thought of Hendry Greum and Murdina Stroud. Their evil knew no bounds, but given Perrin’s delicate build, what they’d made her suffer had been particularly vicious. When Ruadri had related the details, it had taken all of Kanyth’s self-control not to take a mount and hunt them down for even the slightest chance to gut them slowly. Instead he’d made a silent oath: the mad druids would be made to pay someday for treating the lass so brutally, and by his hand.
Even if she’s never to be my lady, I will avenge her.
He knew himself to be part to blame for his dilemma, for it tasked him sorely to keep away from Perrin. From the first moment he had seen her after Cadeyrn’s daring rescue, huddled with her sister by the hearth, she had drawn him. Even bedraggled and gaunt, Perrin’s waifish beauty had clouted him like a lump hammer, but that wasn’t what stunned him. Seven centuries and more had separated the lady from him, and yet he knew her. Knew every inch of her, from the rosy gold glory of her hair to the long, strong arches of her feet. Not even being struck senseless the next day by Emeline McAra in a rage had shaken him so deeply.
For Perrin Thomas had danced in his dreams.
Time had held no meaning in the void, but Kanyth remembered the moment he had emerged from darkness to find himself standing in a huge, empty hall. There on a great platform draped by immense black curtains he first saw her. Barely clad in some skin-colored shift, her lithe body had moved through the air as if she its goddess. He’d been so enchanted by the sylphic grace of her jumps and turns that he’d simply stared, unwilling to move from the spot. Then the dark curtain behind her had snatched her from the light, swallowing her as she screamed.
Did she see me as well? When I charged after her with such fury that my blade turned to flame? ’Tis that the reason she looks upon me as horror?
Weary of his own addled ruminating, Kanyth checked the air flow through the tuyere into the bottom of the hearth before he closed the stone doors. Once the hearth’s blackened lining stones grew hot enough he’d temper the daggers he’d hammered out last night. After edging them and rounding the tang notches, he’d fashion the guards and grips and give them to Bridei. The clan’s woodsman had a knack for carving, and would fit each hilt to the hand of the Skaraven meant to wield the blade. But the entire clan depended on Kanyth to forge every weapon they needed to withstand the rigors of battle. If he made a mistake with the iron, his brothers would pay for it in blood.
“Fair morning, Ka.” The biggest man among the clan, Ruadri Skaraven ducked to avoid smacking his brow into the threshold of the forge as he stepped in. “How goes the work?”
“Hot and never-ending,” Kanyth said and eyed the wrapped bundle in the shaman’s hand. “Dinnae tell me you’ve broken wound blades to add to it. I promised Bren I’d no’ tarry another day on the new daggers.”
“Fear no’, Brother. My lady bade me give you this.” Ruadri uncovered a small lidded pot, which he opened to display the black, oily contents. “’Tis drawing salve. Emeline said to dab it over the spot, permit it dry, and then peel it away. ’Twill remove whatever plagues you.”
Kanyth nodded, touched by the gift. After the shaman’s mate had caught him one night cutting bits of iron out of his fingertips, she had promised a better method. He’d assured her that the practice caused him pain of but short duration, as water healed his every wound now. How like Emeline to wish to spare him even those small hurts.
“’Tis kind of your lady to concoct this for my sorry hide,” he said as he tucked it in a nook over his swage block. “How does she now?”
“As if naught happened to us but a pleasant jaunt through the countryside,” Ruadri said wryly. “While I yet have nights when I wake in dread, and must feel her heartbeat before I may again close my eyes.”
The entire clan had been in an uproar weeks back, when the two healers had inexplicably disappeared. No one could have guessed that a sacred grove portal had pulled Emeline and Ruadri back in time to the first century. There they had become mates, and worked together to save the very first McAra tribe from being wiped out by Romans. They’d almost escaped unscathed, too, but to protect the shaman from his murderous father the nurse had taken an arrow meant for him. After confessing to being forced to spy on the clan for the druids, Ru had wished to join her in death. Brennus had taken the shaman’s ring, and used it to awaken Emeline to immortality.
“You’ve naught to fret on. She’s made your lady forever, poor lass.” Kanyth forced a grin. “I shall be sure this day to thank her for the salve.”
“For that you must wait until she returns from the midlands,” Ruadri said. “She’s gone with Mistress Perrin to look in on the McAra’s wife. They’ll be gone two or threeday.”
“What?” Kanyth said as he swung around to peer at him. “Why should she take Perrin with her?”
“The lass asked to accompany her,” the big man said, and frowned. “Emeline spoke with Brennus before they departed. He saw no reason to keep her from the visit. Nor did I. She’s quite recovered from her ordeals.”
“Our chieftain forgets the famhairean attack the midlands now? Has his brain gone to rot?” Kanyth realized he had bellowed the words and dragged a hand over his face. “Ru, she’s little more than a bruised bundle of twigs. She couldnae again survive falling into their hands. Or the chill of winter, or the frozen river.” He began to pace before the hearth. “Gods, love has fashioned an idiot of my brother.”
“I think no’. Maddock and his clan well protect the stronghold. Emeline shall look after her. I imagine the lass has grown weary of being confined.” The shaman’s gray eyes narrowed. “Ka.”
He followed the shaman’s gaze and glanced down to see his tunic aglow with the blue light of his forge battle spirit. His ability never came unless first summoned, and yet he now felt the full surge of it burning in his veins.
She sets fire to me.
Taking hold of his anger, Kanyth shoved back the fury of his power until he felt it cool. Then came the price of using his ability, which he bore with gritted teeth as he strode over to the slack tub and made use of it. Steam wafted in his stiff face as the surface bubbled, and then slowly smoothed out along with his waning fury.
“Forgive me,” he said. “My ire, ’tis with Brennus, no’ you or your lady.”
“Ah, but I ken how ’tis, beset by such…impatience,” Ruadri said, his deep voice softening. “I reckoned for a time I’d go mad for wanting what I couldnae have.”
Kanyth closed his eyes for a moment before he regarded him. “You’ve misjudged my meaning. I’ve no tender longings for Perrin Thomas. She’s naught to me.”
“Yet a moment past you appeared ready to forge my face,” the shaman pointed out. “’Tis no’ shameful to desire her. She’s quiet to be sure, but as gentle and lovely as a fawn.” He hesitated before he asked, “Had you a vision of her before we awoke?”
“Why should I? I’m no’ a shaman.” The denial felt like a hook in his throat, and he went to his hammer rack and selected a sledge. “Nor may I take a mate, as well you ken.”
Ruadri sighed. “We’re warrior-slaves no more, Ka. Brennus vowed we’d live as all freed men.”
Kanyth grunted. “You recall why the druids chained us down for the pleasure las
ses? Who ignited their fears that the Skaraven couldnae control their battle spirits around females?”
“Never only you,” the shaman countered.
“Inquire of Bhaltair Flen when next he traipses in here.” He uttered a sour chuckle. “’Twas first the old meddler’s notion when I saw to Cadeyrn after that facking lashing he took as a lad.”
Ruadri sighed. “That day you saved Cade’s life.”
“While he screamed, begging me cease, until he fainted from pain.” Long ago he had accepted his lot as the embodiment of the forge. It no longer ate at his empty heart. He looked down at the unnecessary sledge before he replaced it on the rack. “I must speak to the chieftain about this lunacy of travel to the mainland. My thanks for the salve.”
Kanyth left the shaman staring after him as he went out into the great hall. Most of the clan had gone to patrol, stand sentry or attend to the work of the day. The tall, dark figure of their chieftain stood examining a map beside his copper-haired wife, who sat writing something in her book of notes.
The lovers inseparable.
He permitted himself a moment of grinding envy, for seeing the pair together made those tender longings he denied swell. As mortals the Skaraven had never been permitted contact with females except on rare, ritualized occasions to relieve their needs. Now made immortal, they could live as they chose—all except for him. Taking a mate would be too dangerous for the lady, so Kanyth faced eternity alone. He accepted that. He’d cast himself into his furnace hearth before he’d harm a helpless female.
As his envy faded, it was replaced with a begrudging gladness that Brennus had found happiness. His brother deserved Althea. The cleverest of ladies, she also possessed the sweetness of spirit and unshakeable determination that more than matched his brother’s unpredictable temper and commanding character. She treated her husband with great fondness, as evidenced now by the twine of her fingers through his. Kanyth had seen how they ever touched, as if they couldnae keep their hands from each other.
“Master Flen has had every druid settlement notified and searched,” Althea was saying to the chieftain as Kanyth joined them. “Wherever Oriana Embry went, it wasn’t to her people.” She tilted her head back to regard Kanyth with her sky-blue eyes. “Good morning, Ka. I don’t suppose you might know where an evil acolyte assassin would go to hide out?”
“Like for like, my lady. Mayhap she’s joined the mad druids.” He turned to his brother, and willed himself to speak civilly. “Ruadri told me you permitted Lady Perrin to accompany his mate to the McAra stronghold. Why did you that?”
Brennus shrugged. “She asked to make the journey. Emeline assured me she’s hale enough now to venture out. What of it?”
“Naught to trouble you. You thought it wise to send the lass to the midlands, where she’s no protection against the cold, mortal sickness, or the enemy.” He nodded. “’Twas the finest of decisions—if you wish the lady taken or dead.”
“You ken I didnae.” Brennus’s gaze moved over him. “What bedevils you, Ka?”
“She’s a mortal, Bren. Still suffering in her heart from what the druids inflicted on her, still frightened of more, and wholly unable to defend herself. We pledged to do that, didnae we? Yet you permit her go without escort or guard when the midlands are rife with famhairean.” He fisted his hands. “How could you indulge in such imprudence?”
“Hold on a minute,” Althea said, rising to stand beside the chieftain. “There have been only two attacks in the midlands, and both were nowhere near Maddock’s castle. Thanks to the care Perrin’s gotten she isn’t sick or starving anymore. Also, she’s a guest here—not a prisoner. She has every right to leave whenever she wants.”
Brennus touched his wife’s arm. “As ’tis for all your ladies.” He met Kanyth’s gaze. “I dinnae share your worry, Brother, but I see you’ve enough for us both. What would you have me do?”
“Fetch Lady Perrin back to Dun Mor at once,” he told him flatly. “Here she can come to no harm.” As Althea glowered at him, he added, “Or better still, send her back to her own time. She’s lost her druid gift, and she hasnae the strength nor stamina for work. We’ve no use for her.”
The air turned suddenly, bitterly cold as Althea stepped between Kanyth and her husband. “Is that the only reason you put up with the rest of us? Because we’re useful? You are such an unbelievable ass.” She snatched up her note book and strode away, leaving a light scattering of snowflakes in her wake.
Brennus caught a crystal on his palm and watched it melt. “I ken you mean but the best for the lady, Ka, but ’tis likely you’ve acquired a new enemy.”
“’Twas no’ my intention,” Kanyth said and felt a pang of remorse, for he had always gotten on well with Althea. Still, her dislike of him seemed a small price to pay for properly safeguarding Perrin. “You’ll send a man now for the lady?”
“Aye, but ’tis your notion, Brother.” Brennus clapped him on the shoulder. “And since you’ve already been McAra’s favored guest, I can think of no better to go and collect her than you.”
Chapter Three
ONCE PERRIN HAD slipped on her dry boots she bundled her dripping clothes and stuffed them into Althea’s travel keg. Her hands shook as she wrung out her wet hair and covered it with a woolen scarf, but not from fear. Flashing across Scotland in a few seconds had been as exhilarating as a show’s opening night, thanks to Emeline and her new immortal ability to water-travel. Once they’d entered the river Perrin had hardly registered the water’s freezing temperature as glowing bubbles surrounded them and their horses. Then she had rushed through a stream of blurred currents at what seemed the speed of light. A blink later the nurse had led her out of the loch near the McAra’s castle.
Soaking wet and shivering with delight, Perrin had laughed out loud. “That was amazing. Can we do it again?”
The nurse grinned. “Oh, aye, when we go back.”
They had changed into dry clothes in two of the shelters built by the McAra for the Skaraven Clan’s use when they visited. As soon as Perrin stepped outside, the bright sunlight and the frigid air combined to take her breath away, but even that felt amazing. She grinned at Emeline, who emerged from her shelter wrapped in Ruadri’s amber and black tartan.
“If I’d known an icy dunking would make you so happy, I’d have tossed you in the river a week ago,” the Scottish woman teased.
Perrin’s smile slipped. “I’m sorry. I know I’ve been a real killjoy lately.”
“You’ve been badly clouted, and not just on the head.” She fastened their kegs to the sides of their saddles before giving Perrin a boost up. “Your spirit needs to mend, too.”
“Thanks, Emmie.”
That the nurse understood made her feel better. She just wished Kanyth could sense her emotions, because she’d never find the nerve to talk to him. He made her feel the same way she did when she stood waiting in the wings for her cue. Just before a performance she could hardly breathe. If not for the one cure for her perpetual stage fright, she’d never have danced a single step in front of any audience.
“Did you want to rest a bit more?” Emeline asked, startling her.
“No, I was just thinking that I haven’t heard any music since we came here.” Perrin lifted her shoulders. “I used to listen to it all day—in classes, at rehearsal, and of course for the shows. I didn’t even drive anywhere without the radio on.”
“I miss it, too. Even that wancheery elevator music they played on my ward at Fleming’s often helped me through a long shift.” She pursed her lips. “I don’t think the Skaraven have had much exposure to music. None of them sing or play instruments. Ru chants, but I’d hardly call it song.” She chuckled. “I wonder what they’d make of your dancing.”
Perrin thought of Kanyth watching her perform, and felt an inexplicable heat spread through her belly. “That’s not likely to happen.”
A long, wispy shadow passed over them, but when Perrin looked up expecting clouds she saw white smoke. She tu
rned her head to spot a small group of dirty, disheveled people hurrying out of the woods toward the glen beyond the loch. Every man held a torch and a club, while most of the women carried bundles or small children. Some had visible bloodstains on their crude garments, and they all looked terrified.
“Are they part of the clan?” Perrin asked as Emeline saw them.
She shook her head. “They’d be wearing the McAra plaid.” Swinging up on her saddle as if she’d been born on horseback, the nurse pointed in another direction. “The castle is a straight ride that way, lass. Tell the guards I’ve stayed to see what’s amiss with these folk.”
The happy thought of escaping didn’t outweigh Perrin’s concern for her friend. No way was she leaving Emeline by herself with frantic, torch-carrying strangers.
“I’m coming, too,” Perrin said and saw one of the women abruptly turn around and try to run back into the forest. When a man dragged her back, she fell to her knees and wept into her hands. “Emmie, I think they’re in real trouble.”
“Stay on your horse,” the nurse said, and then rode with her toward the couple.
The man holding the woman back turned toward them, his soot-stained face tight with anger and fear. As soon as he saw Emeline’s face he called to the others, who reluctantly straggled back to join them.
“What do you here, man?” Emeline said in a much heavier Scottish accent.
“Naught evil, I swear it, milady,” the man gasped. “I’m Beathan Tadhg, and she my wife Rona, and they our neighbors.” He turned the woman so that she sobbed into his chest. “We’ve run from Colbokie clachan. ’Twas attacked yesterday. Be ye Clan McAra?”